Breathe Again
by Nerdywife91
Summary: This is a prompt fill from sirro134: John Watson left the wizarding world behind after his seventh year. His home life was required him to return to his broken household. He gave up his magic so that he could help with Harry, took schooling to be a doctor and went overseas to Afghanistan with the army. His life really changed when he moved into 221b with Sherlock Holmes.
1. Chapter 1

"I'm done." John laid his wand on McGonagall's desk.

"Why?" She asked over her spectacles. She had suspected something was wrong, but this hadn't been how she thought it would turn out.

"My sister – she needs me."

"The Wizarding World needs you." She sat down her quill. "You just finished here. Hogwarts has prepared you well." She tried to give him a small smile.

"Some things are more important than magic." He fidgeted.

"More important than being who you really are?" She asked sternly. He wouldn't look at her. She pushed away from her desk and grabbed his wand. "Take this with you." She placed it in his hands.

"I can't." He pushed it back at her and ran out of her office.

* * *

When he was finally back home, unpacking the few non-magic personal things he had, his wand dropped to the floor. It had been tucked in between a set of robs. He picked it up and smiled. He nodded once and hid it away.

* * *

Somewhere along the way, Harry got better and he moved on to school and become a doctor. He joined the army and was sent to Afghanistan. As scary as the war was, it was the closest rush he had felt in a very long time that even came close to his magic. When he came home, he lost that rush and found Harry was slipping away again. He was angry and scared and lost when he met Sherlock. Then things started getting better, not with Harry, but with life in general. He found that he looked forward to the day when he woke instead of dreading the mundane.

Life with Sherlock was far from mundane. He shot the wall for fun and solved cases using nicotine patches. John was sure that he had been shot at half as much the last year of living with Sherlock as he had been in Afghanistan. He found himself forgetting the Wizarding World and doing things by hand was now the norm. Every once and again, when Sherlock was being a real prat and was out, he would let the tea make itself and the dishes find their homes while he sat watching the telly. Other than that, he buried his magic down and left his wand hidden away at the back of his wardrobe.

Currently, he and Sherlock were chasing down a murderer. Sherlock had figured it out in record time and something about it seemed off to John. Not Sherlock's deductions – they were sound as ever, but something else seemed oddly familiar about this case and John wasn't sure why.

He and Sherlock had cornered the man. He was dressed oddly John thought as he stared at the man who was bent over grabbing his side – obviously running wasn't something he did often. The man looked at Sherlock and John from his crouching position and smirked. John's mind didn't have time to process as the man stood up and flung his hand out in front of him.

"Do you really think a stick is intimidating?" Sherlock scoffed at the man. He babbled on and on about a stick as protection while John's memory finally dusted off the cob webs.

"Sherlock, shut up." John said through clenched teeth.

"John, this – "

"I would listen to your little friend if I were you." The man interrupted Sherlock. "He seems to understand exactly what is going on here." He turned his hand ever so slightly.

"Don't!" John reached out his hand in defense.

"John?" Sherlock looked at his friend. John didn't take his eyes off of the man.

"_Stupefy!_" The man flicked his hand and before John could react Sherlock was lying on the ground and the man had disappeared.

As soon as John had come back to reality he dashed to Sherlock's side. He looked alright, just…well _stunned._ He grabbed his mobile out of his back pocket and dialed Lestrade. He told them where they were saying that Sherlock had been knocked unconscious by the suspect, doing his best to skirt around the truth.

When Sherlock was finally home (which took forever to convince Lestrade that he didn't need to see a doctor as John himself was a doctor) and settled in his bed, John steeled himself away, up in his room.

He opened the door to his wardrobe slowly and kneeled down in front of it. He reached into the back until his hand found the smooth feeling of silk. He wrapped his hand around the object and pulled it out, setting it in his lap. He pulled the silk bag off of the long, rectangular box and opened the hinged box.

There it was; the wand that had chosen him when he was so young. He has been so naïve then. Both his parents were muggles and when John got his letter to Hogwarts – he was over the moon. He took to magic very fast – it was easy for him and he was good at it. He was powerful with a wand in his hand and the best of any of the students by the time his seventh year rolled around.

He had been sorted into Gryffindor. He had originally hoped for Ravenclaw – he had heard that the house valued learning, wit, intellect, and wisdom above all. When he was still at home, these were the things he focused on. His sister was always a bit of a terror and he wanted to be the good child, so he was and school was where he shined. But when the Sorting Hat was placed on his head, it saw something in John that he would soon discover being at Hogwarts. He was brave. Braver than he had ever believed he could be.

As his time at Hogwarts progressed it was also discovered that he was a bit of a show off…and a lady's man. He had played Quidditch and was a keeper. He outsmarted the others around him and there was never a challenge he backed down from. Because of this, John found himself meeting with McGonagall more than any other student and it continued until after Christmas break of his seventh year. He would walk into her office with a huff. She had stopped bothering with the pleasantries toward the end of his first year and the second week of his second year when he walked into her office, she simply asked what he had done this time. [He had set fire to a first year's robes.]

Her name had been Ruth. She was a year younger and she had been sorted into Ravenclaw. Her dad was a muggle and her mother had been a witch. She died when Ruth was seven. John spent every minute of his second year trying to impress her and getting on the Quidditch team had earned him her attention. His third year, he tried to play it if off cool, flirting with other girls, showing her that he was a catch. She was no longer as infatuated with the _keeper_ as she once had been. His fourth year he came back with his head on straight, he wanted her to notice him and didn't care about the other girls (older girls) who were trying to throw themselves at him just because he was a _keeper_.

By the end of his fifth year they were inseparable and remained so until his seventh year, when things started to get bad with Harry. He pulled away from her – he saw the hurt in her eyes every time she tried to hold his hand and he moved. But things where hard enough at home and he didn't have time to think about anything else. When he left Hogwarts he didn't even say good-bye.

John opened his eyes and realized he was crying. Not just crying, he was sobbing and his body was shaking. He couldn't stop. He wanted to take the wand and break it in half. If he had never left home, never been told he had magic, Harry would have been fine. He would have been able to help her get through it. But he hadn't been there. He had been gone, playing with magic.

"No." He told himself. He had rationalized it out and spent hours fighting with himself. Harry's issues where not his fault. Even if he had been there she would have spiraled down. She was destructive and had proved that time and time again. She had gotten better, married, yet when things where getting really good, she messed it up. He had been there then and it still happened. It wasn't his fault.

He breathed a steading breath and stood up with the box in his hand. He slowly wrapped his hand around the wand and took it out of the box, dropping the box onto his bed. He tightened his grip, the feeling was fantastic. It was as if the magic in his veins was starting to run again, filling in the cracks that had been made over time that no amount of solving crimes would ever fill.

"John?" He whipped around to see Sherlock staring at him, perplexed. His hair was a mess, and his face was red, having been mushed into his pillow. He looked absolutely ridiculous and John couldn't stop himself from laughing. He had never seen Sherlock look so small; he had always towered over John with his height and intelligence, but now, holding his wand, John remembered just how much of a man he truly was.

"We need to talk."


	2. Chapter 2

"Actually, you need to sleep more." John noticed Sherlock leaning heavily on the door to hold him up. He placed the wand back in the box and closed the lid.

"I'm fine." Sherlock bit out, but he wasn't. John shook his head and guided him back down stairs. "Really!" Sherlock tried to jerk his arm out of John's once they were in the living room, but he only threw off his own balance.

"Doctor's orders are that you get some sleep." Sherlock didn't say thing else as he let John guide him back to his room.

John went back to his own room and set his wand on the table next to his bed. He smiled to himself as he climbed under the blankets and let sleep take over his mind.

* * *

John woke early and made breakfast for the two of them. He thought it only polite to offer food while tearing a hole in someone's reality, not that Sherlock would eat, but who knew what today held. Only after John had finished eating and Sherlock finished with picking at the food, did they speak.

Sherlock and John sat in silence, each in their corresponding chairs. John was rolling his wand between his hands, not wanting to put it down yet. Sherlock had sat silently through John's entire story, which had been the first shocking thing. He didn't ask anyway questions when John said he was done, which was the second shocking thing. Now, it had been a good ten minutes and Sherlock still had not said anything.

"Sherlock, you know – "

"Magic isn't real." He finally spoke.

"Yea, it is." John laughed. He stood up and took his wand in his left hand. It had been awhile but John knew what he was capable of. He knew he didn't need to say it out loud, but to help Sherlock get used to it, he spoke the incantation. "_Accio Novel!_" The book on the side table flew into his hands. He smirked as the magic surged through his veins, pounding in his ear, he felt truly alive again.

He turned his attention to Sherlock. His face was blank as he stared at John – at least when he sat silently, he looked like he was thinking, now he just looked broken.

"Sherlock?" John asked gently, moving in front of him. Suddenly Sherlock came back alive and grabbed the book out of John's hands. He rand his hands over it frantically, flipping it over several times. Finally he dropped it to the floor.

"Show me something else." His voice stayed calm, almost bored, but his eyes betrayed him, they were sparkling with excitement.

"Okay." John shrugged. If Sherlock wanted him to show off then by all means he would do so. John raised his arm again, trying to decide exactly what he wanted to show Sherlock. He thought he would stay simple. "_Lumos_." He whispered and then watched the small light emerge.

"Do you have to whisper that one?" Sherlock had his hands pressed together.

"What?" John asked, lowering the wand slightly.

"You said the first spell loud, but you whispered this one."

"Oh." John laughed again; it was like having a giant weight off of his chest. "It's more of…an old habit." He nodded with a big grin, remembering him and Ruth meeting in the astronomy tower when it was empty. Sherlock gave him a questioning look. "I would normally use this while sneaking around school, hence the whisper. _Nox_." He extinguished the fake light.

"What else?" Sherlock sat forward in his chair. John walked over and locked the door to their flat.

"_Alohomora_." There was a small click. John reached out and opened the door with a smile on his face. "Take your left shoe and sock off." Sherlock's eyebrows rose in suspicion but did as John asked. John looked down at Sherlock's foot. It was starting to turn black and blue. "I thought you had broken your toes last night…_Episkey_." There was the slight nose of tiny toe bones realigning. "That one is rather helpful on the battlefield."

*Tap, tap, tap* John looked over and saw a large brown owl just barely fitting in the open window. There was a piece of parchment paper attached to his leg. John walked over taking the paper. When it was untied, the owl flew off.

_Mr. Watson, _

_Your presence is requested at the Ministry of Magic._

_A muggle liaison has already been assigned to you._

_Bring Mr. Holmes. _

_The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes_

_Ministry of Magic_

If John was being honest, he was surprised it had taken this long for the letter to show up. _Maybe the owl had gotten lost on its way here_, he thought to himself.

"Looks as if we are being summoned." John tossed Sherlock the letter.

"By whom?" Sherlock scanned the note.

"Ministry of Magic."

"Was this written with a _quill?_"

* * *

"You want me to do what?" Sherlock stared at John who was now standing in the middle of a broken telephone box. He had explained to him how the visitors' entrance worked and Sherlock kept giving him the 'you're barking mad' expression.

"Get in!" John grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him in. He closed the door, trapping them both inside. He reached out and dialed 62442. There was a woman's voice that rang out, but John just talked over her. "John Watson and Sherlock Holmes. Requested by The Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes." Two badges were produced and the box started moving down. "Here." He handed Sherlock his and he just stared at it.

John had been to the Ministry of Magic once before. A rather unpleasant experience he wished he could forget, but on the nights when he can't sleep and Sherlock actually does, the incident rushes back to him, and there he is standing in the Ministry of Magic, just seventeen, and scared to death.

It was Christmas Holiday and he was home. Harry had gotten into another fight with their parents and had stormed out. It wasn't until 4am that they heard from her. She barged in the front door, her laughing mixed with a man's. John grabbed his wand, leaping out of bed. He rushed down the stairs followed quickly by his parents. Harry was pushed up against the wall with the unknown man's mouth stuck to her throat.

"Harriet!" Her mother gasped.

"Mother!" Harry said with a giggle. "Umm, Matt, this is my family, my utterly boring, _family_." The man unglued himself from Harry's neck.

"Your mother's pretty!" Matt slurred while his mother gasped and his dad tried to push past John, who held him back. He and Harry shared a look and started laughing again, still entwined in each other's arms. John could smell the alcohol rolling off of them. How much had she had to drink?

"Harry, you don't even like men!" John finally found his voice.

"Oh Joooohn! Johnny! My dear _little_ brother!" Harry slurred. "Sometimes a little variety is FUN!" Her eyes sparkled and it scared him. "Come now Matt! My bedroom is upstairs!" She pulled on his hand. His father stepped in front of the stairs.

"Harriet. Say good night to your friend." Their father's voice echoed with authority, stepping up one step so he towered over her. At first John thought Harry was going to oblige and send Matt packing, she looked as if she was going to cry, but instead doubled over and threw up on the bottom step, causing Matt to chuckle and mumble something.

"FATHER!" Harry looked up, screaming. "MOVE OR I WILL MOVE YOU!" She was seething with anger that only lasted a few seconds. Matt toppled over laughing again causing Harry to start as well.

His dad took a deep breath and took hold of Harry's wrist.

"Harriet, you are going to bed." He said gently and started to pull her up the stairs. "And Matt is going home."

"I was invited back here for a good shag." Matt swayed slightly on his feet and balled up his fist. John didn't have time to think what Matt was planning.

"_Stupefy!_" Matt slumped to the ground.

"NO!" Harry let out a bloodcurdling scream. "You've killed him!" She sobbed hysterically.

"I have not killed him!" John shouted back, but Harry wasn't listening. She started thrashing against her father and John did the only thing he could think of to stop it. He stunned his own sister. His dad caught her in his arms and sighed.

"I…I didn't know what else to do." John stammered. "They will be fine, I just. I didn't know."

A letter came not twenty minutes later. His presence was requested at the Ministry of Magic inquiring about the night's events. Two days later he stood explaining what had happened and how he felt he had no other choices. He was allowed to keep his wand and go back to Hogwarts, but Harry and Matt's minds were to be cleared of that night's events. John agreed.

That was the day he decided he was going to leave magic behind.

As he and Sherlock stepped out of the lowered phone booth, John shook his head, clearing it.

"Hello John." A very familiar voice said from behind them.

"Mycroft?" Sherlock spat.

"Hello brother mine." A smirk lay on his mouth.

"You're the muggle liaison?" John let his mouth hang open slightly. "I really shouldn't be surprised."

"Mycroft?" Sherlock said again. The two men looked at him. He stared blankly at his brother, completely at a loss for words.

"Everything will be explained." Mycroft gripped Sherlock's elbow and turned him toward the lifts.


	3. Chapter 3

Part Three:

"Mr. Holmes!" called a soft voice. John, Mycroft, and Sherlock all turned toward a small witch who was standing behind a desk that had the word SECURITY hanging over it.

"Fola." He said with a small nod. She couldn't have been more than five years out of Hogwarts.

"You, umm, you have visitors with you." Her cheeks were burning red. John frowned. How could a witch be afraid of a muggle like Mycroft Holmes?

"Oh, yes." He sounded dreadfully bored. He pushed Sherlock forward who stumbled slightly at the unexpected nudge. "Muggle." Fola went to say something, but clamped her mouth shut when Mycroft gave her a glare. She smiled up at Sherlock. The height difference was amplified when she tried to run the long, golden rod over Sherlock's shoulders.

"Here." John handed her his wand when she was done scanning him. She placed his wand on the brass instrument that looked the same as the last time John had been there. It shook and a piece of paper popped out.

"Eleven inches, dragon heart string, and has been in…"

* * *

John held tightly to his letter. He needed a wand – so there he was, in the middle of a place called Ollivanders, shaking slightly, letter in hand, with his parents giving him nods of encouragement.

"Eight inches, willow, unicorn hair." Ollivander handed it to John. "Well, give it a wave." So John did. Nothing miraculous happened. "Nope." He took it back and handed him another one. "Ten and three quarters inches, maple, phoenix feather…Seven inches, Beachwood, dragon heart string…" Ollivander handed John several more wands and nothing continued to happen. He was beginning to think that maybe it had been a mistake for him to receive a letter. "OH! Here!" Ollivander blew dust off of the box. "Ebony, eleven inches, dragon heart string, strong." He handed the wand to John, who at eleven was trying very hard not to cry. He gave the wand a small wave and what looked to John to be a small blue firework come shooting out of the end.

"Oh!" He bounced happily on his feet, his parents in the corner beaming at him.

"Very good!" Ollivander clapped loudly.

* * *

"Mr. Watson?" Fola asked. "Was that right?" He had missed the last of what she said, but agreed anyways. She handed him his wand back but kept the piece of paper. "Thank you." She smiled sheepishly as they walked away from her.

The three of them got in an empty lift. Three memos flew in and hovered above their heads – Sherlock stared bright eyed. He was taking it all better than John would have thought. He figured Sherlock would be his normal angry self, in fact, he was sure that once the wonder wore off, the anger would set it, but only time would tell.

"What are –"

"They are interdepartmental memos." John said with a shrug, everything about the magical world was still rushing back to him.

The lift shifted and started going backwards. Sherlock's eyes grew bigger when he felt the direction change.

"Yes, the lifts do as they please." Mycroft said exasperatedly. "Ah, here we are – the department of magical accidents and catastrophes." John followed Mycroft off the lift, dragging Sherlock, who had managed to catch a memo, behind him.

"Where exactly are we going?" John rubbed his forehead.

"My office – of sorts – located within the Muggle Liaison Offices. At least you and I are." Mycroft motioned between himself and John. "Sherlock will be visiting the Obliviator Headquarters, just up here on the left." John stopped dead in his tracks, making Sherlock run into him.

"No." John said angrily. He reached in his pocket, gripping his wand.

"John, you know the rules." Mycroft said calmly and continued walking, Sherlock following, having no clue what they were arguing about.

"I said no." John grabbed Sherlock by the arm and pulled him back.

"What's going on?" He looked between his brother and John, who now held his wand out in front of him, pointed at Mycroft.

"He wants to erase your memory. Any traces of magic – they want to erase it." John was seething as he tightened his grip on the wand.

"Um, no." Sherlock said in his usual tone. It was like the trance of coolness was finally broken and he was thinking properly again.

"I have no choice in the matter." Mycroft shrugged.

"I'm not letting it happen." John muttered through clenched teeth.

"It's my brain and I get to do what I want to it."

"Come now brother, be reasonable." Mycroft stepped toward Sherlock. John lifted the wand a little. "Calm down John."

"I SAID NO!" John yelled. "I WONT GO BACK TO HIDING THAT PART OF ME! HE SHOULD KNOW ABOUT THE MAGIC WORLD!" He was red in the face and breathing deep. Several wizard and witches had gathered round to see what was happening. Mycroft had started to yell back at him about policy and security. "THIS PROBABLY – "

Mycroft and John's mouths were bound shut, both staring at each other. Mycroft's face turned red as he stared at John, who wanted to shout that it wasn't him for obvious reasons, but all the noise that came from either were grumpy mumbles. Mycroft gave Sherlock an infuriated look as a wide grin spread across his face.

"Mr. Holmes." A slender, middle aged wizard stepped forward from the group. He was taller than John but still shorter than Sherlock. He wore a dark robe that hung loosely around his shoulders. His hair was completely gray and his skin was so dark, it started to blend with the color of his robe. He turned toward John and Sherlock. "Ahh, Dr. Watson. Mr. Holmes." He said with a short nod to each. "Name's Gordon Beetlestill, you can call me Beetle." He shook John and Sherlock's hands. "Now, if I release your mouths, do you promise to shut up?" John nodded like a maniac while Mycroft gave one short nod after an exasperated eye roll.

"Thank you." John rubbed his hand over his mouth. "Now, as I was – "

"Why don't we take this conversation elsewhere?" Without a reply Beetle turned and most of the other wizards and witches finally broke up and went back to work.

The other three men followed after him in silence, John still gripping his wand desperately. As they passed the Obliviator's Headquarters, John moved to stand between the entrance and Sherlock. They finally entered under a large archway with the words, 'Muggle Liaison Office' in gold bracketed letters above it. There was a semicircle desk with a young wizard and a young witch sitting behind it; to John they looked like they could barely hold a wand. The young wizard looked up and did a double take at Sherlock.

"You're Sherlock Holmes!" He squeaked, wide eyed and jumped up.

"Yes." Sherlock smirked, then remembered where he was. "How do you know?" He demanded.

"Oh," he blushed. "My entire family is made up of muggles. My little sister wants to become a detective. You're practically her hero."

"What the hell _is_ a _muggle_?" Sherlock scrunched his face up in disgusted at not knowing.

"People without magic." John explained. "You and Mycroft, my parents." Sherlock just nodded. Mycroft rolled his eyes and started to walk away from them.

"My office." Beetle said shortly. They followed after him to the last office. It was big and rather plain for a wizard's office, but Beetle was a man of little needs. He cared for his relationships and not about things; the only decorations on the walls were pictures of him and his nephew (Ravenclaw, by the look of his scarf).

"This is how it's going to work, I am going to ask someone a question, that person is going to answer while the other two keep their mouths shut." Beetle didn't mess around when it came to muggles and magic encounters.

"Mr. Holmes, the elder." He said turning to Mycroft. "You were chosen out of all of the muggles that work in the British government to work with the Ministry of Magic, for what reason, I don't know, but still, here you are." Mycroft frowned but kept his mouth shut. "My question is why could you not keep a professional front in the midst of visitors?" Mycroft inhaled deeply before speaking, willing himself to keep calm (know that Beetle could blow him up in an instant).

"Dr. Watson objects to obliviating Sherlock's memories about magic." He kept it short.

"Dr. Watson, why do you object to this?" Beetle kept a serious face. John shifted uncomfortably in his chair, hand still gripping his wand.

"Sherlock has a brilliant mind. If he is able to keep his memories about magic and learn about this world, he could potentially work with the Ministry – if he wanted. But it would also benefit him in the normal cases he already works. I can't help but wonder how many of the unsolved cases-"

"Not many of those." Sherlock piped up. Beetle shot him a look, causing him to shut up.

"How many of the unsolved cases dealt with a wizard or a witch who didn't use magic in the actual killing." John finished. There was silence in the office.

"And?" Beetle pushed.

"I want to be myself again…I need to be able to breath." John loosened his grip on the wand and dropped it in his lap. Beetle sat thinking for a moment.

"I see no reason why Sherlock can't keep his memories." Beetle leaned back in his chair.

"Thank you." John said with a sigh. Sherlock didn't say anything and John elbowed him in the rib. He rubbed the tender spot and shot John a look who gave him one right back.

"Thank you." Sherlock finally mumbled.

"With respect Gordon."

"How many times Mr. Holmes, its Beetle." He folded his hands neatly on his desk.

"With respect, _Beetle_, I think it unwise to let my little brother keep his memories."

"Do _shut it_ Mycroft!" Sherlock spat.

"You have no clue what you are getting yourself into!" Mycroft gritted his teeth.

"I will take _both_ of your memories away if this continues." Beetle moved his wand in front of him on the desk.

"I work here!" Mycroft shouted, his entire face was deep red. Beetle sat back and stared at him in amusement. Mycroft breathed in through his nose and straightened his jacket. "You might be the office head, but you could talk with the department head before making your finally decision?" Beetle raised his eyebrows then nodded yes. He scribbled something on a piece of pail violet paper and sent it off.

"She will be here soon." Not two minutes later the door opened.

"Beetle! I was on my way to see you when this found me!" John stiffened at the witch's voice. Beetle stood with a smile on his face, arms stretched out waiting for an embrace. She ignored the three men sitting and walked over, dropping the memo on his desk and hugged him once. "I have been so busy lately I haven't been able to make it for our Tuesday tea. I'm sorry about that!" She turned around and her face fell.

"Hi Ruth." John managed.


	4. Chapter 4

"RUTH!" Oliver's voice woke her. It was dark in her room as she stretched her arms out. It had been a late night at the ministry and she had informed them that she would be in late in the morning. She looked over and saw it was 7am. She was going to kill him. She threw off her blanket and grabbed her robe, knotting the sting on it.

"WHAT COULD POSSIBLY BE IMPORTANT RIGHT NOW?" She stomped her way down the stairs.

"Owl for you." He sat at the table eating and reading the Daily Prophet. She glared at him and stomped over to the window taking the parchment paper that he was caring.

"And why couldn't you just take it?" She slumped down in a chair across from him, pulling her feet up on the edge of the chair. He shrugged his shoulders and picked at the fruit on his plate. She huffed at him and read the letter she had gotten. It was from the ministry. There had been an incident the night before with a wizard stunning a muggle. That was the entire note. "I know I told my department that memos should be brief, but really? This is not helpful." She tossed the memo to Oliver who read it and laughed.

"You said brief!" He said chuckling. She just rolled her eyes.

"Where's Alex?"

"Work." Oliver was back to reading the paper.

"Left early or didn't come home?" She reached over and plucked a piece of fruit from his plate.

"Didn't come home." He folded the newspaper and tossed it to her. "I think you have that department working too hard." Alex worked on the Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee.

"I'm sorry, but we need a good cover for three wizards turning a field of cows into fireworks!" Not exactly how it happened, but that was what it had looked like.

"That was the best story of the paper!" He pointed to the front cover. Ruth sighed, ignoring the picture. "Well I'm headed in. I got a new lead and Potter wants me to get moving on it." He stood up, leaving the rest of the fruit for Ruth. "See you later." He walked over and kissed the very top of her head. "I hope your days better than yesterday."

"Thanks." She heard him disappearing off to work and finished nibbling on the fruit. She was fully awake now, no sense in waiting around the house doing nothing. She sighed and went to get ready for work.

* * *

"Good morning!" Sarr smiled brightly at her.

"Hi." She nodded.

"I thought you were going to be late this morning." She handed a stack of memos to Ruth, whose shoulders feel as the size of the stack.

"Yes, I was, but Oliver woke me early." Sarr's cheeks blushed, but Ruth had little time to worry about it. She started reading the memos as she walked to her office, Sarr right on her heals with a cup of tea in hand. Ruth sat down at her desk and took the cup. She groaned and dropped the memos on her desk.

"Something wrong?" Sarr asked just as she was about to leave.

"I just…you know what. I need a pick me up." She stood up. "I'm going to chat with Beetle. Maybe we will play a game of Wizard's chess!" Sarr smiled at her with a questioning look. "If anyone asks where I am, tell them you don't know!" Sarr agreed. Ruth took another sip of her tea and exited her office, sealing it behind her. She could feel the smile spreading on her face as she made her way to her friend's office. A moment later a memo was flying into her hand. She opened it. It was from Beetle, requesting she come to his office to talk about an issue with a muggle.

"Beetle! I was on my way to see you when this found me!" She said as she entered his office. Beetle stood with a smile on his face, arms stretched out waiting for an embrace. She ignored the three men sitting and maneuvered around them, dropping the memo on Beetle's desk so she could hug him once. "I have been so busy lately I haven't been able to make it for our Tuesday tea. I'm sorry about that!" She turned toward the other three men, meaning to greet them properly, but she felt like she had been hit with a stunning curse when her eyes feel on the man sitting in the middle.

"Hi Ruth." John Watson gave her a tight smile.

"You know Dr. Watson?" Beetle asked her. She blinked at John and then at Beetle and then back at John.

"I would say so." The man sitting to John's right said with a smug grin. "Must have been an intimate relationship gone bad judging by the fact that she looks like she wants to snog him until she can't breathe or kill him."

"Shut it you clot!" John glared at the man.

"Uhh, yes." She finally managed. "John was a year ahead of me at Hogwarts…how did you know that?" She asked the man.

"Observation." He said, folding his hands.

"This is my brother, Sherlock Holmes." Mycroft gestured toward the man, Sherlock. The consulting detective that Beetle had been following closely.

"This was the boy from Hogwarts?" Beetle whispered to her, an eyebrow raised. She shook her head at him, begging him to shut up. "I just pictured someone different." She just kept shaking her head and stared at the ground, ignoring John's eyes. The four men started talking all at once. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"SHUT IT!" She shouted, snapping her head up. Beetle sat down in his chair, looking shocked. Mycroft covered his mouth with his hand, looking slightly worried. "Alright." She took another steading breath. "I received an owl this morning with a memo about a muggle being stunned by a wizard – that was you?" She asked Sherlock.

"Yup." He popped his lips.

"You asked me to come here to talk about this problem." She looked at Beetle. "I'm guessing it's about obliviation?"

"Yes. Mycroft thinks Sherlock should and John thinks he shouldn't." Beetle nodded.

"What do you think? You are the head of the Muggle Liaison Office."

"I said he could keep his memories about magic. Mycroft asked me to talk with you about it." He gestured to Mycroft who looked completed irritated at the whole situation.

Ruth chewed on her bottom lip. Why did he have to be here? It was making it hard for her to think!

* * *

"Ruth?" John's voice came from behind her. She turned and smiled brightly at him. He had sent her a note asking her to meet him at the Quidditch field to celebrate her birthday (she was going to be sixteen). She thought he had been crazy – they had just gotten back from Christmas holiday and it was still snowing.

"Hi." She kissed him on the cheek. He just kept smiling at her. "Why are we here?" She asked, shoving her already gloved hands in her robes. He dug around in his robes and produced a purple box with a gold ribbon wrapped around it. She stared at it. "What is it?"

"Could you just open it?" He shoved it towards her and she took it. She pulled the ribbon off and opened the lid.

"JOHN! Where do you get this?" She grabbed hold of the present and let the box and ribbon fall into the snow. It was a third edition and the first one-volume edition of Sense and Sensibility. The second edition had been released in a three volume set and her mother had had both a first edition and second edition set that was given to Ruth when she passed away. Despite both her parent's being from the magical world, Sense and Sensibility had been her mother's favorite book and Jane Austen had quickly become Ruth's favorite author.

"You told me once that you really wanted a third edition to add to your collection." He smiled sheepishly. She openly gawked at her boyfriend.

"Thank you." She finally whispered, kissing him hard on the mouth.

"Happy birthday." He whispered back.

* * *

"Ruth?" John's now deeper voice brought her back to the present. She decided then and there to not let John Watson get under her skin. She raised her head and looked him straight in the eyes.

"Why do you want Sherlock to keep his memories?" She asked as she sat down on the side of the desk.

"I already told Beetle that I think that Sherlock really could be of use to the wizarding world. He could be useful in unsolved cases?" He said the last part as more of a question. She thought for a moment on that. She nodded her head once and headed for the door, opening it.

"We are going to visit the Auror Headquarters."


	5. Chapter 5

Part Five:

As soon as Ruth left Beetle's office, five more memos landed in her hand. She had to fight the urge to tear them up.

"Beetle, can you take them down there? I need to stop by my office real fast." Beetle ushered the three men off to the lifts while Ruth ran to her office.

"Sarr?" The girl looked up from her small desk. "Any important memos?"

"Well." Sarr held up three more memos.

"No. Important. Life or death. Dark arts is threatening to overtake Hogwarts kind of stuff." Sarr shook her head no. "Thank you. Can you put these with the others?" She handed Sarr the memos she had received in the hall and headed back out to the lifts. As she turned the corner to the lifts she practically ran into John. "Oh!"

"Hi." He reached out his hands to keep her from losing her balance.

"What are you doing?"

"Sherlock told me that I should probably apologize."

"He doesn't seem like the kind to apologize." She stepped onto an empty lift.

"He's not. He said it was something I would tell him to do if he had fucked up."

"Oh." She crossed her arms across her chest. "John." She said before he could start. "This is not the time or place to have this conversation. I'm at work right now and trying to figure out if your mate should get to keep his memories or not."

"Right." He didn't say anything else.

"You know what else?" She cocked her hip. "I am the youngest department head here! I work hard every day! My department is the best functioning department in the ministry!" She threw her hands in the air, dropping her wand. She looked down at it and noticed John was trying not to laugh. "Maybe I shouldn't be." She leaned down and picked up her wand. She looked at John and they both started laughing.

"Oh good." They stepped off the lift. "You apologized." Sherlock said with a large amount of boredom in his voice.

"Sherlock…just…shut up." John said with a half grin.

"Is Potter here?" Ruth asked Beetle.

"No. He's out." Ruth frowned, but then smiled again. She wound her way through the cubicles. Stopping when she found the one she wanted.

"How's the lead?" She leaned on the wall of Oliver's cubicle. He smiled up at her.

"It's fantastic!" He jumped up and kissed her on the check, then gathered her in a hug and spun around. "Already found the wizard!" He put her back down, grinning like an idiot. The grin fell off his face when he eyed John. "John?! John Watson!?"

* * *

"No Oliver." Ruth huffed as she grabbed her broom back from him. It was a sunny day and they were sitting outside on the hill.

"Please? It's for John!" Oliver gave her his best puppy dog face. He was the same year as her, but was in Gryffindor with John.

"That's not going to work." She gripped the broom in her hand even tighter. "Besides, if you had wanted to fly so badly maybe you shouldn't have broken your broom."

"It wasn't intentional." He groaned and flopped over in the grass. He looked up and saw John staring down at him, confused. "She won't let me borrow it."

"I told you she would say no." He sat down next to Ruth and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "Where are Alex and Cael?" Cael was the same year as Ruth and had been sorted into Ravenclaw with her. Alex was a year ahead and was in Gryffindor.

"Probably snogging in some dark corner." Oliver scoffed, still sprawled out on the grass.

"We were not!" Alex's cheeks were burning red as they walked up.

"Yea. We were." Cael high fived John as they sat down. Oliver rolled over on his stomach.

"John, your my best mate – you need to talk to her." He jabbed his thumb at Ruth.

"The answer is still no." She threw a rock at his head.

* * *

"Hey Oliver." John said shyly. Oliver grabbed John up in a big hug clapping him on the back, causing John to cough. "Never thought I'd see you again and in the Ministry of Magic no less!" Oliver looked at Ruth, who gave a small shake of her head no.

"Yea." John rubbed the back of his head. "So you two are together." It took a moment for it to sink in.

"What? No!" Ruth hurried on. "Just friends. Share a house. That's all."

"Oh."

"Anyways." Ruth cleared her throat and turned to Oliver. "Oliver, this is Sherlock Holmes, the muggle who was stunned last night."

"Oh, right. The memo. Nice to meet you." Oliver held out his hand and Sherlock shook it. "Mycroft. Never nice to see you."

"Like wise." He held his chin out. No one said anything for a moment.

"Why are all of you here?" Oliver finally asked.

"It's a question of obliviating Sherlock's memories of magic or not." Beetle explained.

"Then why aren't you at the Obliviators Headquarters?" He was truly confused now.

"John thinks that Sherlock would be able to help out with cases." Ruth motioned between the two. "Mycroft thinks Sherlock should forget about magic. I want to know if he truly can help, but Potter isn't here and you are the next best Auror we have."

"To be honest, I want to tell you to let him keep his memories just to spite Mycroft." Mycroft frowned deeply, but didn't say anything.

"Can you be serious for a moment?" Ruth folded her arms.

"Yes, sorry." He pulled out his chair and an extra one. "Mr. Holmes." He pointed Sherlock to the chair. He sat. The other four hovered around the opening to the cubicle. "You're a consulting detective?"

"Yes, only one."

"Do you think you're good?"

"I'm the best."

"Are you sure?"

"What are you doing tonight?" Sherlock asked. Oliver looked confused, but answered.

"Meeting a friend for a bite." Even Ruth could tell there was a hint of a blush on his cheeks.

"Not just a friend."

"Everyone can see he's blushing, Sherlock." You could hear Mycroft rolling his eyes.

"You shaved this morning." Sherlock said, ignoring his brother. Oliver nodded. "But you don't normally shave and your razor is dull."

"True." Oliver nodded.

"This girl…you're meeting a girl." Oliver nodded again even though it wasn't a question. "You want to impress her, otherwise a man of your simple style" Sherlock motioned around the bland cubicle, "Wouldn't bother to keep fixing his hair so it's perfect for tonight."

"I'm slightly impressed."

"This is a person you are comfortable around – no change of clothes." Sherlock again motioned to the empty cubicle. "Also, it's a second attempt at a missed date last night."

"I am completely impressed." Oliver stared in disbelief.

"Who are you meeting up with?" Ruth asked, intrigued.

"Sarr." He hung his head.

"That's why she was blushing so much when I mentioned you this morning!" Ruth stabbed him with her wand.

"Aren't you here for my professional help?" He set his jaw, tapping his wand on his desk.

"Yes." She shrugged. "Can he be of help to you?"

"I would say yea." Oliver looked over at Sherlock again. "Potter will definitely find him of use. Annoying, but usefully."

"That's how we all see him." John mumbled.

"Okay then. For the time being, Mr. Holmes keeps his memory." Ruth smiled warmly at Sherlock who didn't respond. After a moment she frowned. John reached over and hit Sherlock.

"Oh, right. John feels like I should say thank you, so thank you." He gave one tight smile to Ruth and Oliver.

Mycroft stormed off in an angry huff. Ruth giggled but stopped as another memo landed in her hands.

"Well, I need to get back to work, but please feel free to take a look around at the photos and if you see the wizard from last night, tell Oliver here." Ruth gave John and Sherlock a tight smile. "Beetle, if you could just make sure they get out all right."

"Of course." She could tell he didn't want to play babysitter, but she needed someone to do it and he was the head of the Muggle Liaison Office.

"If we need anything from you two, you will send an owl." She shook Sherlock's hand and walked away to deal with all of the memos that had piled up. She could feel John's eyes on her until she was out of sight.


	6. Chapter 6

"Sherlock, I don't see him." John complained loudly. A few witches in their cubicles shot him annoyed looks. Sherlock ignored him as he stared at a particular photo of a Dark Wizard. There was nothing striking about the man, yet Sherlock stared, bent over slightly.

He had been one of Oliver's leads from that morning and he had filled Sherlock in on what he had done to earn himself a spot on the wall of the Auror's office. You could tell the wizard was standing by the way he kept moving – a shifting of the feet was the only thing that would cause that kind of movement. His hair was short and light. He was in his early thirties. There was not a smile on his face, yet Sherlock could tell he was happy – a contented kind of happiness. It sickened Sherlock somewhere deep in his soul.

"Sherlock?" John asked as he stood next to him.

"I don't see him either." Sherlock stood up to his full height.

"Well if you two don't mind then, I have work to get back to." Beetle pointed to the lifts.

"Yes, sorry." John nodded. "And thank you again."

* * *

"We're going to Bart's." They had just gotten a cab and were headed back to Baker Street. "Change of plans – Bart's Hospital." Sherlock told the cabbie.

"What's wrong?" John tried to see what Sherlock was looking at on his mobile.

"Lestrade has a body for me to look at."

* * *

"Where the hell have you two been?!" Lestrade was anxiously pacing as the entered the morgue. "I tried to ring you seven times!"

"Really? I only got five of them." Sherlock shrugged as he looked at his mobile. "What do you have already?" He asked as he walked over to the covered body.

"We pulled him out of the river. There were no wounds. We have no clue what killed him." Lestrade ran a hand through his hair. "I asked Molly to wait in case there was something you could see that we had missed."

"Molly." Sherlock looked at Molly who pulled back the sheet. "Oh. John. You may want to see this."

"What?" Molly stared down at the man's face. There was nothing she could see that was out of the ordinary.

John walked over and looked down.

"Oh." He looked up at Sherlock. "I see…while you finish up here, I need to…yea." John left Sherlock standing over the body and hurried out of the morgue, he broke into a run when he reached the hallway. He made his way to the back entrance and no one was around. He dug in his pocket and found part of a napkin. He scribbled a note and pulled out his wand. He took one last look around and sent it off to the Ministry. They had given him no good way of contacting them, so he made his own.

He had sent the message to Oliver. It seemed too much of a coincidence for the same wizard who had stunned Sherlock the night before to have wound up dead on Molly's table the next table for Oliver not to hear about it.

John waited. He knew it wouldn't take long for a reply. He was right. Soon, the same owl that had visited their flat that morning was swooping down to him with a reply. They were sending Mycroft to the morgue and he would be there soon. Oliver also suggested that if John was going to keep contact with the wizarding world that he should make a trip to Diagon Alley and get an owl.

He laughed at the last part.

"Diagon Alley!?" He shook his head. It had been many years since he had been there.

* * *

"Look at that!" Oliver had his nose pressed up against the window. "Newest Firebolt!"

"You already have a broom! Now get your dirty nose off the window!" Oliver's mother chastised him. "I'm going with your sister to Flourish and Blotts. Stay out of trouble."

"But – " He started to protest.

"Come on!" John grabbed his sleeve and pulled him into the shop. There was hardly anyone in Quality Quidditch Supplies. "I would like to purchase the Firebolt that's in the window." He said to a short, squatty man. The man nodded and went to fetch the broom.

"You're getting a new broom!?" Oliver stared at him with jealousy.

"Yea. Harry broke the last one." John sighed.

"What was she doing with your broom?"

"She had gotten in another fight with my parents. She came into my room and smashed it. Not sure she meant to do it or not." He shrugged. He had actually been kind of happy she broke it – he wanted a new one and this gave him the opportunity to get it.

He paid the man and took his new broom.

"You've got to let me try that!" Oliver tried to grab for the broom.

"I just got it!" John pulled it away from him and started into a dead bolt, laughing hysterically, away from Oliver.

* * *

John made his way back to the morgue. Molly and Lestrade were standing off to the side making their own conversation. Sherlock was standing over the man, looking more confused than he had ever been.

"So?" John whispered to him.

"There's nothing to…_observe_!" Sherlock whispered back, frustrated.

"The Ministry is sending Mycroft. He should he be here soon."

"Got anything Sherlock?" Lestrade asked.

"No." Sherlock stood up straight. "Nothing."

"What do you mean nothing?!" Lestrade barked.

"There is nothing to observe." He said with a shrug. "I suppose – " The door to the morgue swung open and in walked Mycroft. John saw the brief moment of relief wash over Sherlock before he composed himself again.

"I got word of the body you found in the river." Mycroft didn't bother with pleasantries. "Do you have his personal affects here?"

"No. They're back at Scotland Yard. Why?" Lestrade was not found of Mycroft.

"I need them."

"They are part of an open investigation. You can't have them."

"I can have them and I will." Mycroft walked passed Lestrade and over to Sherlock. He gave him a questioning look. "Nothing on the body?" He asked quietly.

"No."

* * *

"We are getting an owl? What for?" Sherlock wrinkled his nose.

"Conversing with the Ministry." John shrugged as he stepped out of the cab, Sherlock right behind him. "Here we are."

"Where?" Sherlock looked round, confused.

"Leaky Cauldron." John smiled brightly. He pushed the door open and pulled Sherlock in behind him, thinking to himself that Sherlock hadn't noticed the Leaky Cauldron until he was walking through the door.

"Bit drab." Sherlock sniffed. John ignored him and the several disapproving looks he got from the wizards and witches having a drink. He walked through the bar and to the small walled in courtyard. He tapped the wall and the brinks started to move.

Sherlock stood in amazement as the wall of bricks opened in front of him, leaving an archway in its wake.

"I should have introduced you to magic sooner. I have never seen you so speechless before." John chuckled as he walked away from Sherlock.

After thirty minutes of Sherlock stopping, staring, and asking questions (a good ten minutes was spent staring in the window of the Quality Quidditch Supplies' window) they were finally standing in Eeylops Owl Emporium.

"What about this Snowy Owl?" John asked. The first time he visited Diagon Alley his parents had bought him the biggest Snowy Owl there. He had names him Curio.

"No." Sherlock barely looked at the owl John was standing next to.

"What's wrong with it?" John had really taken a liking to him.

"This one." Sherlock smile and turned around with an owl that fit perfectly in both of his hands cupped. The Screech was on the small side for John, but would work just fine for transporting messages back and forth. The owl was varying shades of grey and about half of the feathers were tipped with black along the edges.

"I guess he will be fine." John turned away from the Snowy with a frown.

"_She_ is great!" Sherlock beamed.


End file.
